The magic of stories
by NannaTheBakemono
Summary: Brotherly Norway x Iceland. Norway is reading and Iceland want's to know what he is thinking - and his attention... Rated T for safety.


**The magic of stories**

**An Axis Power Hetalia fanfiction.**

**Pairing; Brotherly Norway x Iceland**

**Norway, Iceland and Canada do not belong to me.**

--

The pouring rain and the howling wind was the only sound that escaped from the outside into the small room. It was winter, dark, cold, and icy outside so the fireplace was lit and was burning so the two young men would stay warm. The room was small, yet big enough for them. And there was so many bookshelves's so they could barely see the walls, filled with books of all kinds.

Iceland stared at his storebror sitting in the usual big and roomy chair reading a book about fairytales. Sometimes he had to move his hand so he could turn to the next page but apart from that the only moving about his body was the mysterious and dull blue eyes moving from left to right to read the lines.

His blonde hair was set up in the usual cross barrette but the rest was free and formed his face making him even more beautiful. There was something about this that catches Iceland's attention and enchanted him, making him unable to stop.

He sat on the floor about three feet away from him staring up wondering what was going through his head. He envied the other's man's hair... It was so living compared to his silvery one... He started fidgeting with his bow tie, getting impatient for him to stop reading.

He nearly jumped when Norway slammed the book close, and a sigh escaped his lips. Iceland crawled up next to his chair resting his head on the arm support.

What is it?

Nothing... I am fine really, just a bit tired, he said in a low voice with his eyes still closed.

You do not look okay...

Well, I am, he said monotonously.

Sorry, then...

Lillebror... It is okay, come here, he said and inviting him onto his lap – an invitation Iceland accepted without doubting. He closed his eyes and snuggled close into his brother's chest and clung to him like a lost child, enjoying his warmth and body touch. His storebror's scent was a mix of sea, forest and flowers - still really soothing and comfortable.

Are you okay, lillebror?

Hmm?

I asked if you were okay, you seem scared.

I am not; I was just a bit lonely... Iceland did not want to say it that way, but the words spilt out of his mouth before he could regret it and take it back.

You should have said so - then I could have done something about it. His eyes searched the room - every bookshelf in the room was scanned until he found what he was looking for.

Ice?

Hmm?

See that big, green book over there? He pointed with his index finger so he could see it. The huge, green book looked noticeable different from the other black, red or yellow ones.

Yes, I see it.

Bring it to me, he said short yet firm. Iceland obeyed and quickly returned to his brother's warmth. Norway took the book and opened it, and Iceland snuggled even closer onto him.

This is the same book I used to read for Canada... Iceland looked up at his storebror with a pit of jealousy inside of him. That. Major. Bitch. Norway was his storebror, not Canada's!

It is our favourite, even though I never see Canada around anymore, he used his monotonous voice as always.

It is the magic of stories...

It that the book's name?

No, Norway burst into laughter – a rare sight.

The magic of stories is what enchants us... Makes us disappear from this world for an amount of time – letting our mind rest. That is what I like the most about them... Iceland's eyes grew wide; he had never heard his brother speak so philosophic before, not even to him.

But not every fairytale is good...

It is not the fairytale that is no good - it is the writer. To create a piece of art on a paper you need to have the abilities and imagination. The Icelandic studied his face, but no emotions were to be found. Then he noticed he were sleepy and rested his head on his chest.

I know you are sleepy, shall we go to bed, the Norwegian asked.

Only if you carry me, the Icelandic whispered, hiding his red cheeks. It was nice when there was only the two of the, where they could show off more emotions.

Fine. The Norwegian took the Icelandic's arm around his own neck. Then he took his own arm around his lillebror's back and the other one around his thighs carefully lifting him up and trying to keep his own balance, it has been ages since he last time lifted him up, and he had gotten heavy since then – but Norway was strong (maybe a bit thin – but strong). Iceland rested his head on his storebror's shoulder and closed his eyes just enjoying the moment. He felt safe; if he was Denmark he would kick and scream at him to let him go. Norway started walking, out of the room, up the stairs and laid him on his bed. The silver-haired was almost a man, but yet he looked so childish... and he looked like an angel there he lay down with his eyes closed and mouth open, breathing heavily. Norway put a last kiss on his lillebror's forehead, whispering to him before he fully fell asleep;

Jeg elsker deg.

--

**That was my first APH fanfiction... I am glad I am done with it, though.**

**Norwegian translation;**

**Storebror – big brother**

**Lillebror – little brother**

**Storebror's – Big brother's**

**Lillebror's – little brother's**

**Jeg elsker deg – I love you**


End file.
